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2010-04-13 - Le Sang des Bêtes
AXIS, BABY The massive form of the former Federation prototype battleship "Girty Lue" rests within one of Axis' many ship docking bays today. It has been here for some time now; its crew wait patiently inside, each holding a simple firearm. After all, their captain left very simple instructions. 'If any of these chumps try to get their filthy spacenoid germs on my ship, shoot 'em down. But try an' be diplomatic about it -- '-- I don't want their blood ruining the paint job.' Said captain currently sits in the waiting hall of Axis' grand meeting chambers. An index finger tapping against his bicep, Yazan has been waiting here for quite some time -- the fact that he is even here is bizarre. The fact that he personally requested -- and was extremely insistent on -- a meeting with the regent Haman Karn is perhaps just slightly stranger. But Yazan Gable is a man who understands that even Zeeks have their uses. Leaning back with an almost obnoxiously casual air in his superbly crafted seat, Yazan has spent much of his time waiting carving 'GABLE + KARN - BFF' in a crude heart with his simple switchblade, doing it in an obvious enough manner for the all-too-tense guards to see. One of them turns, focusing spiteful eyes on Gable. They know who he is. "... you will have to relinquish any and all weapons before seeing the Regent," he says, stiffly. Yazan looks up, and smiles. "Sure thing, captain," he answers as mockingly as possible. A second or two passes before something else dawns upon Gable. His lips part again. "Oi. I got a fun game to pass the time with. It's called 'How Many of Your Zeek Buddies has Yazan Gable Killed?'. Wanna play?" The guards' hands clench more tightly around their rifles. The tense moment is not quite defused by the arrival of Haman Karn. Dressed in her finest fairy-princess splendor, the Regent hustles in as if she were on the clock, swinging the huge doors open and not even wasting time by stopping her stride long enough to deliver a proper greeting. "Yazan Gable," Haman says, as if she were about to start reading a list of charges. The Regent stops at the head of the table -- the seat reserved for her. It's nicer than the other ones. That's how these things work. She rests her fingertips on the tabletop, hands spread as if she were presiding over a vast cabal rather than one man. Haman's eyes pointedly drift toward the carving Yazan's made. She notices disruptions in her surroundings. That one sort of stands out a lot. "...yes, well, if that's the case, then I'm sure you won't mind getting right to the point, /best friend/." Only then does Haman sit down, posture stiff, face weary -- she's still young and pretty, but there's a lot visibly weighing on her, as if she were wrapped in psychic chains. Yazan Gable isn't a Newtype, and thus he's spared the truly vivid experience of this -- but it's still pretty obvious. Haman opens her mouth to say something else when the door opens again, and in trots Princess Mineva Lao Zabi. The little girl seems quite cheerful as she marches toward the seat next to Haman's and climbs up into it -- she's small enough that 'climbing' is sort of a literal thing. Her hands fold and rest on the tabletop, and she's careful not to put her elbows on it. "Hello, Lady Haman!" Mineva chirps, ignoring Yazan for now. "I thought I might observe you, to further my diplomatic training!" Then, Mineva directs her attention toward Yazan: "If you don't mind, of course!" Haman Karn is momentarily struck dumb, her lips moving and her eyebrows raised, but no coherent point coming out of her mouth. She looks too tired to deal with this shit. By the time Haman has arrived, Gable's dirt-covered boots are already pointedly propped on the tabletop, knocking the heel of one into the sole of the other as if to free up bits of dirt and grime caught between the ridges. "It's just so rough gettin' out all the dirt," he explains to a guard. "'Course, when it's /spacenoid blood/ I'm gettin' on my shoes, I just go an' burn 'em, no use riskin' infection--" The doors slam open. The ex-Titan stops abruptly, turning his eyes dully towards the purposeful stride of Haman Karn. Aside from the lift of a hairless brow, there seems to be little to no other reaction from Yazan. He observes her carefully, eyes squinting. He sees the obvious stress lines, the tired look about her -- her weakness. Newtype or not -- predators are nothing if not adept at sniffing out blood in the water. A thin smile crosses Gable's lips. "Yo. You're not gonna start bleeding all over the meeting, are ya?" is his elegant response. The tension might have been detrimental if not for the sudden arrival of one Princess Mineva Lao Zabi. For once, Yazan looks surprised as he sees the enthusiastic little girl stride in with a hop to her step. He knows who she is -- how couldn't he? Which is why, as the surprise fades, a vicious smile slithers across his lips. "Oh good," he breathes out in an exaggerated sigh of relief. "The /real/ leader of the proud Neo-Zeon's here." He leans forward, feet kicking off the table as he grins. Despite his best attempts, it is not even remotely pleasant. "Now we can /really/ get started." Suddenly, Yazan's attentions shift entirely to Mineva; Haman might as well not even exist. "Thanks for comin', /Queen/ Zabi," Yazan says, with all the pleasantness in the world. "I'm just here t'make a bit of a business deal. Now that you're here, I can make my proposal. I was startin' to get worried it might all get spoiled by a regent on the rag." Yazan leans back again, his fingers threading over his midsection as he looks at Mineva considerately. "I want you to give me one of your stupid little excuses for mobile suits -- whaddya call it? The Douchen-Wolf? Doober-Milf? --Dooben-Wolf, that's the one." A pause. "D'you know what 'on the rag' means, sweetie?" Haman Karn's anger meter ticks up and up and up. It's written plainly across her face. Mineva, meanwhile, just seems slightly confused, albeit earnestly trying to keep up and look mature and wise. Her little chin sets as she clearly thinks hard about Yazan's amazing sales pitch. Then that last question comes and the Regent stands with such force that her huge, ornate chair topples backwards -- the force causes her cape to flap and flourish, and the pink-haired woman bangs her hands on the tabletop sharply. All of this is accompanied by a demonic roar from the woman, rivaling Yazan's own screams: "YOU WILL TREAT THE PRINCESS OF ZEON WITH /RESPECT/!" There's a long, awkward moment. The guards have their guns ready. Mineva sits there in shock, staring at Haman, wide-eyed. Haman herself breathes heavily, all but snorting like a horse. Her lips twitch and resist curling into a sneer. Haman doesn't sit, doesn't bother having her chair taken back up. She just stands, hands so tense that her knuckles are white. She doesn't say anything else, for the moment. "Y'see, when a girl gets all grown up in her naughty no-no place, she starts becomin' a gibbering, incoherent c--" The chair of the Regent Karn collapses with such a loud crash that Yazan Gable's words are cut off flatly. The smash of fists against the table are enough to make the ex-Titan finally /look/ at Karn, like one might look at a particularly immature and obnoxious guest. The fact that /Yazan Gable/ is looking at Haman Karn in such abject disapproval might just be the icing on the cake. Dark eyes glance towards the guards, for a brief moment. They slide back towards Haman, as if daring her, before his attention shifts to Mineva once again. "... Well golly gosh," he says oh-so-politely to the space royalty. His smile seems to just drip grease and filth. "Nevermind, seems like great Regent Karn over here went ahead an' explained it for me better than I ever could. "You oughta be super thankful -- she's a /great/ teacher." Slowly, Gable's hand moves down to his pants pocket; he holds a simple device in his hand when it withdraws, which he simply places on the table in front of Haman Karn, even as he keeps his focus so pointedly on Mineva. "Ya oughta try an' keep a bit tighter leash on your regent there though, Queenie, she's startin' to forget who her allies are. I don't gotta tell /you/, /leader/ of Neo-Zeon, how /detrimental/ that could be." Yazan fiddles with several buttons on the black device in front of him as he continues, non-chalantly. "O'course, I'm a generous sorta guy, so I'm not gonna force ya to pay me for takin' your scrap heaps off your hands -- hell, I'm not even gonna ask ya to give it to me for /free./ 'Cause I /respect/ my allies." He flips a final switch, lips pulling into a grin. "You gimme your worthless crap, an' me -- I'll give ya this." The device activates, projecting a large, holographic image -- design specs and images of a very distinctive, very large mobile suit. One Haman Karn should be able to recognize. The Psyco Gundam. Mineva largely seems puzzled by Yazan -- she does this thing when he starts veering off into colloquialisms that she doesn't understand, where she lifts her chin slightly and purses her lips. The young girl is clearly trying to affect a serious, thoughtful expression, but she does it so often during Yazan's brief monologue that it's clear that she's going to have to puzzle over it for some time to decode it all. Then, the Princess flashes a look over at her Regent -- a quiet but fearful one, as if expecting Haman to explode again. Haman stops glaring sullenly at Yazan long enough to force herself into an expression of muted annoyance and meet Mineva's eyes. Mineva returns her attention to Yazan, then, and chirps: "I am /quite/ thankful to have Lady Haman as a teacher," she says, cheerfully, guilelessly, as if Yazan had been dead serious. "And I assure you -- Lady Haman is fully aware of who Neo Zeon's allies are. Please don't be put off by her manner -- I should hope that a man in your position would not be so sensitive!" She's learning, all right, even though the comment isn't even meant as a swipe -- Mineva actually does hope that. "Oh!" the Princess says, when the hologram appears. "What's /that/?" Haman Karn draws in a breath, and says, quietly, "The Psyco Gundam." Haman's mind flashes to her own encounter with it, pitting the Qubeley against its power and only barely coming away. She lost that fight, she thinks. Or maybe she won it. Suddenly, she can't quite remember. She blinks twice, and stares at the hologram with renewed jadedness. "Be explicit," Haman Karn says, only realizing a moment later that she's saying the worst thing she possibly could to the worst person she possibly could. "I'm not going to be suckered like the Federation twits you strung along. What, exactly, are we getting? A whole Psyco Gundam? A carcass of one? Blueprints to one? That hologram?" "Oh, I'm a real sensitive guy," Yazan remarks dismally to Mineva, a frown creasing his lips. "An honest to goodness sensitive new age faerie like that Char Aznable you spacenoid women get all hot an' bothered for." Another pause. "But I bet Regent Karn could tell ya all about /that/, too." But, Haman speaks. Even as she does, the image shifts again to the interior of a mobile suit development bay, the massive form of a great, purple machine -- violet, like the Psyco Gundam and yet different, largely completed save for some of the lower body -- a team of engineers hard at work on it. "Mark II," Yazan points out after Haman speaks, in a tone that would suggest he's trying to teach a small child something. When his attention turns back to Mineva, his tone is markedly more serious. 'Be explicit.' "It's a robot us terrible earth people built to kill backwater space people by the bundle usin' some bargain brand newtypes. Respectfully." Yazan's brows lift as he speaks, taking his sweet time with casual -- yet deeply serious and respectful -- small talk with the Princess. "Didja know that newtypes are so special ya can mass produce 'em on the assembly line? I hear you can make 'em with cheaper production costs than it takes t'make a car nowadays." His gaze shifts, subtly, back to Haman. "What a world we live in, eh?" Eventually, Gable leans back. Hands lacing fingers together at the back of his head, the ex-Federation soldier frowns most distastefully at Haman's words. It doesn't last long; eventually, a venomous smile oozes across his lips. "I'd /never/ thinka tryin' to string /you/ along, Karn." His gaze shifts back to Mineva, blatantly. "I think we already know you're the master of that. But I guess even a woman's gotta have some kinda specialty, yeah?" A second passes. The image shifts towards a series of blueprints, even as Yazan artfully continues his sales pitch, turning attention back to Mineva -- as she is, obviously, the one he should be making it to. "It's the whole thing. About 85% complete since we shoved Ray into the fuckin' thing to rot his brain away on it. But since I'm such a nice guy, I'm even throwin' in the blueprints for free. All the weapons systems an' shit are all ready for ya. The cost of construction for the rest shouldn't be that great for the grand Neo-Zeon, right?" He lets this settle in, before he slowly brings in the catch. "An' all I need you t'do is give me all the combat data you get from it." Mineva Lao Zabi swallows. She's not sure she likes what Yazan Gable is telling her. A lot of of it goes over her head still, but she's not quite so sure she finds Yazan Gable charming anymore. A small frown crosses the Princess' face. Mineva is not a trained diplomat. She can't suppress this growing feeling of unease. The Princess looks to her Regent, who glances back at her momentarily. Haman's demeanor is one thing, but her Newtype aura is another entirely, and Mineva is sensitive enough to it that meaningful communication can ensue even without words or coherent thoughts. Haman gives Mineva the psychic equivalent of a squeeze to the shoulder and an assurance that she can take it from here. Haman's attention returns to Yazan Gable. When the terms are laid out, Haman's frown grows less intense -- or, at least, less distasteful. The intensity remains in the form of thoughtful consideration. Haman takes the proposition very seriously, and her eyes drift to the hologram as it changes. She watches it distractedly. Her mind is clearly turned toward the future. "And the Dooben-Wolf -- you want this for what, exactly?" Haman's gaze returns to Yazan, steely and firm. "Other than whatever charmingly racist speech about killing spacenoids that you have next in the queue. If I'm to exchange technology with you, Gable, I want to know what I'm facilitating." The silence and discomfort from Mineva is met with a growing smile. Eventually, however, he heaves a sigh, throwing his hands into the air non-committally. Once more, his legs swing up onto the table to, smashing his heel into the holographic projector. The images shut off, whether by some act of skill on Gable's part or, perhaps more likely, that he just hit the thing too hard. "Guess whether they're just kids or adults, women ain't fit to deal with big kid shit, eh?" he asks, now very pointedly at Haman. "I oughta stop chattin' it up with the puppet, then, an' start talkin' with the /real/ leader." Eventually, however, Haman moves to the conditions. He lifts a brow, twiddling his thumbs in an idle gesture. "Got so little faith in your allies. What a shame. But I guess that's why ya keep tryin' to shove your hand down Katharon's hippie bellbottoms, right?" Alliances. What a joke. Eventually, though, Gable leans back in his chair, letting it rest on its back legs as he thinks. "Oh, I just want it for a li'l bit of scientific curiosity." He lets a second pass before he continues, head tilting upward to squint more easily at Haman in her ridiculous fairy princess outfit. "My buddies an' I are /real/ curious as to how your little Wolf-thing works, so we're gonna have a little peek at it." His gaze lazily drifts over to Mineva. "Don't worry your little head off, I ain't gonna use it to kill off any of your space pals. I wouldn't wanna trash the honor of the great Zabis, after all." Yazan Gable, as has been noted (many, many times), is a predator. So he should be able to smell Mineva Lao Zabi's fear. As he continues to speak -- and smile that ugly, ugly smile -- and provoke such a strong reaction from Lady Haman -- Mineva begins to slowly understand that Yazan Gable is a man to be feared. And that is why every time he talks to her, the Princess of Zeon shrinks back into her seat, all but cowering. She has enough dignity to keep from doing so. But only barely. Haman Karn, meanwhile, frowns darkly. Her hands -- fists, resting on the tabletop -- tighten further, and she can feel her fingernails dig into her palms. But she doesn't let up. Her breathing has evened out, and for a moment, she's a million miles away. On the one hand, she knows what a man like Yazan Gable could do with the Dooben-Wolf. And on the other, she knows what a man like Yazan Gable could do with the Dooben-Wolf. For a brief, shining moment, Haman Karn's thoughts turn to apocalyptic fire, to the perfect vision of perfect hell. A hell that Zeon can save the universe from once it's too late. A hell that it takes men like Yazan Gable to create. So clearly, their creativity must be nurtured. "We receive the Psyco Gundam, and the blueprints. In turn, you receive the combat data from our use of it." Haman's tone is icy. She's not intimidated by Yazan. She's already let him rattle her -- she knows that he's not intimidated by her, either. Imperiousness will get nowhere with him. But neither will anything else. "You will also receive the Dooben-Wolf. But. Under two conditions." Haman Karn lifts a hand, to enumerate the conditions on two fingers that rise, one per. "One. Once the exchange is complete, neither you nor your ship -- nor any ship you captain from here on out -- ever returns to Axis. Ever." Haman's face is a stone-cold mask of a frown. She's gravely serious. "Two. Whatever you use the Dooben-Wolf for, the end result makes the Earth Federation suffer." Haman's tone darkens further still. If she was serious before, now she's beyond all known limits. Quantum seriousness. "I know you're only a man of your word when it suits you, Gable. But those are my terms. Take them or leave them." The Regent returns her hands to the tabletop, and waits. Gable seems fit to take the silence as time to relax. Leaning back perilously far, he taps an index finger against the back of his head, whistling a disjointed tune as he taps his right boot against the table. His eyes drift back to Mineva, brows furrowing together, offering up a slimier smile than even Cyborg Roman Polanski could ever muster. "Heh." And then Haman speaks. When she does, his eyes lift lazily back toward Haman; the whistling has stopped by the time she begins to lay down her terms. His delight at both Mineva and Haman's respective falls and rises aside, he doesn't particularly want to be here. He hates the smell of the place. Which is why, when she lays down her first term, Haman Karn will find an abrupt and brief laugh to meet her. It's kept respectfully short, and Yazan waits. The second request makes him furrow his brows. Quantum seriousness is met by grimy quantum squinting as Gable runs fingers through his luxurious quantum pompadour. "Heh. Who d'you take me for, one of your people?" That said, Gable pushes his feet against the table. His chair backs up with a loud, obnoxious screech, dragging across the expensive floor of Haman Karn's meeting room. Kicking off the chair onto his feet, the ex-Titan stretches languidly. "Don't worry your little helmet head, Karn, I don't have any intention of comin' inside Axis again." He lets the words linger once more before walking forward, towards Haman Karn... and then /past/ her, standing in front of Mineva. He looks down with a grin, and crouches down delicately. A rough hand extends towards her as he leans forward. "Now let's shake on it. Gotta make the deal /official/ with the /real/ ruler, right?" At this point, he doesn't even try to mask the sarcasm anymore. Mineva actually does scoot away from Yazan when he gets too close. The guards snap to attention. Their guns are ready, their tongues itchy with anticipation, wanting to yell the magic 'GET BACK OR WE'LL--' that they don't even intend to finish before firing. Haman Karn, meanwhile, strides after Yazan, standing right at his side, ready to disrupt any contact with Mineva past that sarcastic handshake. Haman is also there to reassure Mineva. The Princess looks like she might cry -- she shields her eyes from Yazan, her body curling into a defensive posture as if she expects Yazan to bring that hand up and start striking her. Haman is eventually forced to take things into her own hands: "Princess. It will be okay." Only when Haman Karn reassures her does the Princess peek out and realize that she can't hide by backing into the corner of a chair. Mineva slowly, carefully reaches out and offers a weak handshake. Yazan's hand can wrap completely around her own. And when the shake is done, she pulls her arm back so quickly that it's like she was trying to dislocate her shoulder. Immediately after, Haman moves, collecting Mineva, taking her by the wrist and pulling her up. "There, Gable, you've had your jollies. My men will arrange the exchange. Yours should get on doing the same. Then we can go our separate ways, and we'll both be much happier." That last bit delivered as Haman strides out of the room, Mineva in tow, not even deigning to say goodbye. Without looking back, she adds: "Don't deface any more furniture." Hand clasps against hand. Despite everything, the contact is surprisingly brief, courteous, and simple. One simple shake later, and Gable lifts up, left to squint at the cowering Mineva. "Aw, wouldja lookit that," he remarks absently as Haman collects Mineva. "Looks like she takes after her dear ol' dad. Y'know... "I'd hope a girl in your position wouldn't be so sensitive!" The tone almost completely matches Mineva's earlier, far more sincere wonderment. Gable barks out a sharp laugh as Haman takes Mineva away, not even bothering to watch them go as he picks up his projector. "Heh. Aye aye, /best friend./" Looking thoroughly content, Gable shoves his hands back into his pockets, shoving past the guards as he easily makes his way towards the hangar bays. "Man," he mutters under his breath, gripping onto a mechanical guide stick as he floats through zero-g. "They make 'em even bitchier in space." Category:Logs